The Best Stress Relief
nerd!Rafe x sorority girl gf!Reader
based on this request! 💌
summary: Rafe’s had a long day, and you know exactly what he needs to feel better. Your door unlocked, your legs open, and all the time in the world.
cw: smut, oral (f. rec), fingering, established relationship, rafe’s an eater, allusions to piv sex
word count: 2.4k
mdni 18+
It starts with a text that looks way too polite to mean what it means.
Rafe: Are you up?
Rafe: Long day.
Rafe: I’m—
A pause, then the typing bubble, then—
Rafe: I really need you.
You stare at the screen for half a second, heat curling low in your tummy because you know exactly what need means when it comes from him. Rafe doesn’t do vague. He does specific. He does thoughtful. He does the kind of honesty that makes your skin prickle and your chest ache in the best way.
You: Door’s unlocked.
Three minutes later, you hear the soft knock anyway—because he still knocks, even when you’ve been together long enough that your roommates have stopped pretending they don’t know his shoes by the sound.
You open the door and there he is: hair a little messed up like he’s been dragging his hands through it, backpack slung over one shoulder, glasses on, mouth set in that tense line that means his brain has been sprinting for hours.
And then his eyes lift to you and his whole face shifts.
It’s subtle, but you know him. You know the way his shoulders drop a fraction. The way his inhale deepens like he’s finally getting air. Like stepping into your space makes the noise in his head go quiet.
“Hi” you breathe.
“Hey” he answers, voice soft still careful, even now. Even after months of him learning your body like it’s a lab he’s obsessed with. Even after you’ve taught him he doesn’t have to ask permission for every little thing because you want him. Because you like him needy.
He steps inside and shuts the door behind him, then just… stands there for a beat like he’s trying to decide if he’s allowed to touch you without exploding.
You close the distance for him, palms sliding up his chest, fingers catching lightly on the fabric of his shirt.
“You look wrecked” you murmur.
He swallows, gaze dropping to your mouth. “I am.”
“Bad?”
He gives a tiny, humorless huff. “I had a lab report due, my professor changed the rubric after I’d already formatted everything, and I’m pretty sure my TA is allergic to clarity.”
You smile, thumbs rubbing slow, soothing circles over his sternum. “I’m sorry baby.”
His eyes flicker—sharp, quick—at the pet name. His throat works again, and when he speaks, it’s barely there.
“Can I…?”
You tilt your head. “Can you what?”
His cheeks pink instantly like it doesn’t matter how many times you’ve had him between your thighs, he still gets shy asking for what he wants. It’s one of your favorite things about him: brilliant and confident in the lab, but with you, he’s honest in a way that makes him blush.
He exhales through his nose, then looks at you like you’re the answer to a question he’s been stuck on all day.
“Can I just—” His hands lift, hesitating near your waist.
“Can I be down there for a while?”
Your stomach flips, hot and sweet. “A while?”
His mouth tugs at something like a smile, but it’s more need than amusement. “A long while.”
You lean in until your lips almost brush his, and you watch him track the movement like he’s starving.
“Is this your way of saying you’re stressed?”
He closes his eyes for half a second like you’ve nailed it. “Yes.”
“And your coping mechanism is… eating me out?”
His eyes open again—darker now. “It helps.”
You let your hands slide up to his shoulders, fingers curling into the strap of his backpack. “Take that off.”
He does immediately, like he’d do anything you told him to if it meant he got to focus on you. The bag hits the floor with a soft thud, and then he’s right there, close enough that you can feel the heat coming off him.
“Bedroom?” you ask, even though you already know he’ll follow you anywhere.
He nods once. “Please.”
You turn, leading him down the hall. Your room is dim, only your bedside lamp on, soft yellow light throwing warm shadows across your posters and laundry chair and the half-open textbook on your desk.
Rafe stops at the edge of your bed like he’s trying to be respectful of it—like it’s an altar.
“You don’t have to look at it like it’s sacred” you tease, tugging his hand.
He steps closer. “It kind of is.”
That makes you pause.
Because he says it so simply. Like it’s obvious. Like of course the space where you let him see you like this—soft, open, real—is something he’d treat carefully.
Your throat tightens a little. You cover it with a smile and a push at his chest.
“Okay, Romeo” you whisper. “Sit.”
He sits.
You stand between his knees and let your fingers drift up to his glasses. “These come off or stay on?”
His breath stutters. “Either.”
You pull them off and set them on your nightstand anyway, because you like the way his eyes look without them wide and earnest and a little wild when he’s worked up.
Then you kiss him. Slow at first, just a press of lips, but he makes a sound like relief—like you’ve taken something heavy off his shoulders.
His hands find your waist, grip gentle but sure, thumbs digging in slightly like he needs proof you’re real.
You pull back just enough to murmur, “You want me on the bed?”
He nods again, jaw tight. “Yeah.”
You step back, climb onto the mattress, and settle against your pillows. You watch him watch you, eyes tracing your body like he’s memorizing.
“Come here” you say softly, patting the space between your thighs.
His breath catches. “Okay.”
He moves like he’s been thinking about this since the first text—like he’s already mapped out exactly what he wants to do. He leans in, kisses your knee, then your inner thigh, then higher, his mouth warm and reverent.
You shiver when his fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts.
“Can I?” he asks, voice low.
“You’re already halfway there” you whisper.
He smiles—small, relieved—and pulls them down slowly, like he’s savoring the reveal. Your panties follow, and then cool air hits you for a second before he’s there again, close, breathing you in like it’s oxygen.
Rafe presses a kiss to your hip. Another to the inside of your thigh. Then he looks up at you, eyes dark and intent.
“Tell me if it’s too much” he says.
It’s always this with him. The care. The checking. The way he wants to be sure you’re with him—always.
You reach down and thread your fingers through his hair. “It’s not going to be too much.”
His throat bobs. “You say that now.”
You laugh under your breath. “Rafe—”
He cuts you off by leaning in and licking a slow stripe up you, from your entrance up to your clit, like he’s tasting you on purpose. Your hand tightens in his hair instantly.
“God” you breathe.
He makes a pleased sound and does it again. Slower. Broader. Like he has nowhere to be and no reason to stop.
It hits you right away: that he’s not rushing, not aiming for the quickest route to get you off. He’s settling in. Like this is exactly what he came for.
His mouth is warm and patient, tongue moving with the kind of precision that makes your whole body go tight. He alternates between long, slow strokes and shorter, focused ones that make you squirm.
“Rafe” you whimper, hips lifting.
He hums, and the vibration goes straight through you. “Yeah?”
“Are you… trying to kill me?”
His lips curve against you. “No.”
He pulls back just enough to look up at you again, hair falling onto his forehead, eyes bright.
“I’m trying to make it so you can’t think about anything else.”
Your breath catches. “That’s not fair.”
“It is” he murmurs, and then his mouth is back on you.
He uses his hands too—one palm flattening against your lower stomach like he’s grounding you, the other sliding under your thigh to pull you closer, positioning you exactly how he wants. Like you’re an experiment he’s determined to perfect.
You tug at his hair, not hard, just enough to make him glance up.
“You’re so—” You lose the word when his tongue flicks over your swollen clit and it makes your vision blur. “Oh my god.”
He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even slow down. If anything, he gets more focused, mouth slick and relentless, the pace making your toes curl.
Your thighs start to tremble, trying to close around him, and he presses them apart with his forearm, firm but gentle.
“No” he murmurs, like a warning. “Stay open for me.”
The command sends heat straight through you.
You swallow. “Yes—okay—”
He makes a satisfied sound and keeps going, tongue moving faster now, the pressure increasing just enough that your whole body starts to build toward something sharp.
Your hand slides from his hair to the back of his neck, nails scraping lightly. “Rafe, I’m—”
“I know.” His voice is muffled against you. “I can feel it honey.”
The words make you go impossibly hot.
He shifts, and suddenly he’s using his mouth and his fingers, sliding one into you slowly, curling it in a way that brushes the spot that makes your back arch off the bed.
“Rafe!” you gasp.
He looks up, eyes locked on your face like he wants to watch you fall apart. “That okay?”
“Y-yes—”
He adds another finger, slow, stretching you, and then he’s back to using his tongue in those precise strokes over your clit that make your head go empty.
You’re fully at his mercy. Your body is warm and open and so sensitive already, and he hasn’t even been here that long.
Minutes blur. You don’t know how many. You just know he doesn’t stop.
When you try to squirm away from how intense it feels, his hand tightens on your thigh, anchoring you.
“Where you going?” he murmurs.
“You’re—” You laugh, breathless. “You’re doing too much.”
His eyes flash. “I told you.”
And then he presses his mouth to you again, tongue firm, and you feel the coil in your stomach tighten fast, the pleasure turning bright and almost overwhelming.
Your voice breaks. “Rafe, I’m gonna—”
“Good.” His voice is low, reverent. “Let it happen.”
You come hard, whole body going tight, thighs shaking as you gasp his name like it’s the only thing you know.
He doesn’t stop.
Not immediately.
He stays there, mouth still on you, tongue slowing but not leaving, like he’s determined to drag every last tremor out of you.
You whine, oversensitive, hand pushing at his head weakly. “Rafe—Rafe—”
He finally lifts his mouth, lips glossy, eyes blown out. He looks wrecked in a completely different way than when he walked in.
“Too much?” he asks, voice rough now.
You’re panting, dazed. “I—maybe.”
His gaze drops between your thighs, and you watch his jaw tighten like he’s trying to restrain himself. You’re wet, lips puffy, clit peaking out between your folds.
Then he looks up again, and the shyness is still there—but it’s layered under something hungrier.
“I can stop” he says, even though he looks like it would kill him.
You swallow and run your fingers through his hair again, gentler this time.
“You came over here because you were stressed” you whisper. “And now you’re acting like you’re the one who needs something.”
His throat bobs. “Watching you… helps too.”
“Yeah?” you tease softly. “My poor stressed-out boyfriend needs to watch me fall apart?”
He nods once, very serious. “Yes.”
You laugh, shaky and warm. “Rafe, that’s—”
He crawls up the bed just enough to kiss your stomach, your ribs, the space right under your breast. Then he presses his forehead to your skin, breathing you in again like you’re calming him.
“Can I keep going?” he asks quietly. “Just… a little longer?”
The honesty in his voice makes your chest ache again.
You tilt his chin up, making him look at you. “You know you don’t have to use my body as your stress ball, right?” you tease.
His eyes soften. “I know.”
A beat.
“I’m not using you” he adds, like it matters—like he needs you to understand. “I just… you make me feel better. And I like making you feel good. A lot.”
Your stomach flips.
You brush your thumb over his cheek. “Okay, baby.”
His eyes flicker. “Okay?”
You spread your legs again, a slow invitation, and watch him swallow hard.
“Yeah” you whisper. “Come here. But you have to listen if I say stop.”
He nods immediately. “Always.”
He slides down again like he belongs there, like this is his favorite place in the world. And then he’s back at it—slower now, almost tender, tongue moving in lazy strokes that keep you right on the edge of too much without pushing you over right away.
You sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re insane.”
He hums against you, amused. “Maybe.”
He shifts his grip, pulling you a little closer, and you can feel how careful he’s being—how he’s paying attention to every little reaction, every twitch, every breath.
It’s so him. Rafe, obsessed with details. Rafe, determined to get it right. Rafe, who could talk for twenty minutes about cellular respiration but can’t stop staring at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
Your fingers twist in the sheets. “Rafe—”
“Tell me what you want” he murmurs.
“You.” Your voice is wrecked. “I want you.”
He pauses, lifting his head again. “Do you want me to—?”
You nod, breath catching. “Yeah. Please.”
His eyes go dark. He crawls up your body, kissing you as he goes, until he’s over you—hands braced on either side of your head, breathing hard.
You can feel how turned on he is when he presses against you, the feeling of his hard cock making you shiver.
“You sure?” he asks, voice trembling slightly like he’s trying to be controlled and failing.
You pull him down by the back of his neck and kiss him, slow and deep. “I’m sure.”
He kisses you back like he’s starving, like he’s been holding himself back all night. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours.
“Okay” he whispers. “Then I’m gonna take my time.”
And of course he does.
Because with Rafe, it’s never about rushing. It’s about devotion. It’s about him melting into you like you’re the one place on earth that makes sense—like he can finally stop carrying the weight of the day.
And when he finally pushes his cock into you, slow and steady, you wrap your legs around him and whisper, “Feel better, baby?”
He makes a breathless sound that’s half laugh, half groan.
“Yeah” he murmurs against your mouth. “A lot better.”
a/n: happy friday, babies! I’ve finally finished this request. I’ve been working on it the last couple days and whewww I don’t know why I struggled with this one so much (I’m blaming work lmao). but she’s done, she’s here, and I hope you love it. alsoooo I’m officially on spring break, so keep your eyes peeled because I’ve got a lot of stuff coming 🤩
♥️ lani
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